books/marsh/marsh.tex

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``If you had to boil down this year into a sales pitch, what would it be?''

I laughed and bump my shoulder against Hanne's. ``A sales pitch?''

``Yeah,'' she said, leaning briefly against me as we walk. ``I'm in the market for a new year. Sell me the 2399 model. I've got a wide variety to choose from, so tell me why you decided to live through this one.''

``You're a nerd. You realize that, right?''

``Tell me why I should be a nerd in the year 275. Next year we can decide on 276.``

I scuffed my heel against the pavement of the street. New Year's Eve, and everyone was still inside. Bars: full. Restaurants: packed. There were a few scattered couples or groups around, but they were all walking with purpose. Champagne called. Canapes. Crudites.

And there we were, Reed and Hanne, arm in arm, strolling leisurely down the street, heedless of the passersby, to celebrate the last day of 2399, systime 275+365. Many, still lingering on the calendar still used phys-side, were doubtlessly partying extra-hard to celebrate the turn of a century.

``If you're looking for the utmost in luxury, then it's really hard to go wrong with 2399. The ride was just about as smooth as could be.''

``How about comfort?''

``Oh, very comfortable. Cushy, even,'' I said, poking myself in the belly.

Hanne laughed. ``Cute. How about the exterior?''

``No clue. It's been a long, long time since I've had any reason to pay attention to the world outside. I imagine it looks just as confusing as it anyways has.''

``Well, okay, fair enough. You've been here longer than I have.''

``I keep forgetting you're younger than me.''

She nodded. ``Robbing the cradle, you are.''

``You're 83.''

``Barely legal.''

It was my turn to laugh. ``Whatever.''

``How about, uh\ldots{} Features? Amenities?''

``Well, it's got us in it, doesn't it?''

She snorted and shoved me away from her. ``Now who's the nerd? Gross.''

I stumbled to the side, laughing. Our own champagne from earlier added a pleasant freedom of movement I only ever notice at two drinks. Any more and I become too loose and have a hard time staying upright. Any less and I don't notice that any freedom was lacking.

``Is that so bad?'' I asked. ``Alternatively: am I not allowed to be a bit maudlin? It's fucking New Year's, Hanne.''

``\,`Maudlin'? Is that even the right word?''

``What? Uh\ldots{}'' I hunted down a dictionary on the exchange, prowled through it. ``Oh. Mawkish, that's the one. Or saccharine, maybe? I don't know. Maudlin still kind of works, doesn't it?''

She tilted her head at me.

````Extremely sentimental,'' it says. Pretty sure that fits.''

Hanne rolled her eyes, grinning. ``Okay, yeah, that fits you to a tee.''

We walked in silence for a few minutes. I tallied the occupants of the various restaurants along the way, making note of the busiest to check out on some less-busy night. Good date spots, perhaps.

``What was it like when you uploaded?''

``You mean phys-side?''

Hanne nodded. ``What was Earth like? What was your life like?''

I shrugged. ``Fine, I guess. The Western Fed was swinging conservative again, it was hot as hell all the time, most places were starting to subsidize uploading despite an already declining population. I guess that makes it sound terrible, and maybe it would have gotten worse, but I wasn't around to see it. We were doing alright, so maybe I was kind of sheltered.''

``I hear you on the hot as hell part. We couldn't afford moving south when it got too bad, so we moved up into the mountains. It helped a little bit, at least.''

``When was that?''

``2320 something. I don't remember. I think I was under ten, at least.''

I nodded. ``I guess that's what I mean by sheltered. We were already up in Newfoundland. Summers sucked, winters sucked, but it was alright between them.''

``Autumn or spring?''

``Huh?''

``Pick one, dummy,'' she said, laughing.

``Oh, autumn, for sure. Autumn bitch all the way.''

``I knew it.''

I rolled my eyes. ``I'm nothing if not myself.''

``So why'd you upload?''

``You know that already.''

Hanne shook her head. ``You said to transition, sure, but didn't you already do that back phys-side?''

I stayed silent, picking apart my thoughts on the matter. ``I-- Marsh got sick of being trans. They wanted to just be a man, not a trans man.''

``\emph{You're} a trans man, though.''

``Sure, but that's not what they wanted at the time. They started to miss it by the time they forked.''

``Why?''

I laughed. ``So many questions tonight.''

She grinned, shrugged.

``Well, I think half of it was that there was just too much pressure at the time. Like I said, the WF was swinging conservative, so there was this push to assimilate, and we internalized that pretty hard. We felt pushed to just shut up and be a man, just disappear, and always felt that we fell short despite all we did to try, but on Lagrange, we could do that right off the bat.''

``So they went back to being trans--''

I shook my head, cutting her off. ``They've given up on gender. I became the way they experienced that again.''

``Sorry, Reed.''

``No, it's okay,'' I said, feeling a rush of warmth to my cheeks. ``Didn't mean to get too pushy. It's still a little tender, I guess.''

The shadow of her shoulders relaxed again in the dark of the night. ``Even after so long?''

``Yeah. Like I said, we internalized it pretty hard, even as they tried to diversify later on. I headed back trans, Lily headed back feminine, and Cress embodies the negation.''

``Is that why you forked, too?''

I grinned. ``I forked for fun. Even if it's still a tender spot, I think I'm still way more relaxed than they are. There may be a bit of that in Tule, I guess. He's still pretty happy being a guy --- he's the only one out of all of us, come to think of it. Rush is as ve is of ver own choice, though.''

Hanne looped her arm through mine. ``Well, I still like you as you are.''

``What, trans?''

``No, a huge nerd.''

``Of course.'' I bumped my shoulder to hers. ``Why'd you upload, then?''

``The weather. The money. All the same stuff the government told us. Same as most people, I think. I internalized that as much as Marsh did the whole gender thing.''

``Was the WF still on its conservative swing?''

``The Republic of Argentina wasn't part of the Western Federation.''

``Oh, right. I guess I knew that.''

She shrugged. ``Sure. But either way, they were somewhere in the middle, maybe. There was this big push from the liberal side on the climate, and this big push on the conservative side on the financial side. They said they could cut costs on services if there were fewer of us. Dad was with them, mom was with the libs. It was one of the few things they could agree on. They said they'd miss me, but they weren't exactly sad when I went the Ansible.''

``\,`Went the Ansible'? Is that what you called it?''

``\,`Uploading' sounds so sterile,'' she said, nodding. ``\,`Went the Ansible' just made it sound like moving away from home.''

``Well, I'm glad you went the Ansible, then.''

``Sap.''

I laughed. ``Got it in one.''

Champagne tinted evenings faded, as they do, into brandy-colored nights. Amber nights and fireplaces for the hell of it, me and Hanne settling in for a little bit of warmth for that last hour, not quite decadence and a ways off from opulence, but still a plush couch and a fire and snifters slightly too full of liquor.

We shared our warmth, sitting side by side on the couch, and we continued to talk, talking of the year past, of years past beyond that, and of however many we decided were ahead. A hundred years? Two hundred? Only five? I made an impassioned argument for five more years of life, then laughed, changed my mind, and say I'll never die. Hanne said she'll live for precisely two hundred, give up, and disappear from Lagrange. She'd fork at a century and never speak to that version of her again, that exact duplicate, and should that instance decide to live on past two centuries, so be it, but she'd decided her expiration.

I scoffed. ``What? And leave me behind?''

``Of course. Can you imagine six score years with someone? Absolutely miserable.'' She rested her head on my shoulder and shrugged. ``We're a ways off from that, I think I still like you now.''

``You think?'' I draped my arm around her shoulders. ``Still not sure?''

``I'm sure I think I like you.''

I laughed. ``Yeah? Well, what can I do to cement your opinion of me? What can I do to make you sure that you like me?''

``There's a whole laundry list,'' she said, sipping her brandy.

``Pop one. I could use a goal for 276.''

Hanne held up her glass appraisingly. ``Well, we could work on your taste in liquor.''

I snorted. ``What would you rather I drink?''

``Scotch.''

``That always struck me as so manly, though.''

``Sounds fake.''

``Oh, I'm pretty sure it is, but we're beholden to stereotypes.''

She poked me in the side, grinning. ``You must be drunk if you're using words like `mawkish' and `beholden'. Let's see. You could introduce me to Marsh, maybe.''

I shook my head. ``That's not on me, you know that. We have a one-way relationship.''

``But they're your down-tree instance! You're patterned after them. You talk every year \emph{at least} once, right? You'll talk to them later tonight, right? You have for the last hundred.''

``No, probably not. If I hear from them directly, anything more than just a ping, I'll know something's gone horribly wrong.'' I leaned back --- carefully, what with her head resting on my shoulder. ``Like I say, it's a one-way relationship. All I do is live my own life, right? I stay in touch with the rest of the clade to greater or lesser extent, but Marsh has their own life.''

``They have several.''

``Right. We all fork, we all merge back down to whoever our down-tree instance is, and since I was forked from them, I merge down directly. They get all our lives, one year at a time, but we don't really get anything in return.''

I could hear the frown in her voice. ``How miserable.''

``What, our relationship?''

``Just\ldots them. How miserable they have to be, right? They live their life doing whatever, spending their whole year remembering the previous year from, what, five instances?''

``Six. Me, Lily, Cress, Rush, Sedge, and Tule.''

``That's another thing you could do: be a little less weird.''

I chuckled, kissed atop her head. ``Uh huh. Love you too.''

``But I was saying they have to be miserable. They chill out in their house and spend their days remembering yours, you and your cocladists, and just living vicariously through you all.''

``That's not all they do. They sing. They have Vos and Pierre, right? They spend time with their partners. They go to Vos's plays. They have friends over. They sing a \emph{lot}. They cook--''

``Are they as bad a cook as you?''

``Oh, worse, according to Tule's girlfriend. Truly terrible.''

She laughed.

``They have a full and fulfilling life, is what I'm saying. They're happy, it's just that their happiness doesn't include communication with their up-tree instances.''

``Why not?''

I yawned, slouched down further on the couch along with Hanne. ``They very specifically want us to live our own lives. They don't want us to just be other versions of them. They can make all of those they want for their little tasks. They specifically want us to be something other than what they are so that they can experience that on their own terms.''

``Don't see how that's any different,'' she mumbled. Sleep threatened, even with some time left before midnight. ``You all merging down like that is just doing the same thing in reverse, You're making them a version of you all, even if you're not just a version of them.''

I turned that thought over in my head, held it at arms length, let the light of the fire shine through the fog of champagne and brandy onto it to admire just how strangely it was shaped. ``Well, huh.''

``See? You're so weird.''

``I guess we are,'' I said, smiling and nudging Hanne upright once more. ``No dozing off, now. Not yet.''

She grumbled and rubbed at her face. ``Sorry if that came off as rude. I guess it's just outside my understanding.''

I scooted up onto the couch, myself, sitting cross-legged to face her. ``It's okay. It's not wrong, even, I just don't think it's wholly right, either. It's a matter of intent. Our intent is to live our own lives to the fullest, and it's their intent to let us do so and yet still be able to experience that at one layer of remove. We've been doing it for a century, and it's worked out well enough since then. If all this--'' I waved around the room, feeling the gentle spin of drunkenness follow the movement, ``--is just a dream, if we're all doing our best to dream in unison with each other, then I think intent may be all that we have, right? However may billion or trillion people have uploaded are all trying to dream the same dream together, all mixed up and poured into the same System, we have to form what meanings we may on our own.''

``I think we broke two trillion instances a while back. I don't know how may uploads, but I don't think it's hit a trillion yet.''

``Right. Sorry, guess I'm kinda rambly when I'm drunk.''

Leaning forward, she gave me a light kiss. ``It's okay, I like it when you ramble. Just don't lose track of the time.''

23:45.

I started to nod, then stiffened as I felt first one, then another set of memories crash down onto me. ``\emph{Fuck.} One of these\ldots days I'll convince\ldots them to give me some warning\ldots sec\ldots{}''

Hanne laughed and shook her head, standing from the couch to go get herself a glass of water.

I closed my eyes to turn down one of my senses, setting the sweet-smelling glass of brandy aside to rid myself of another as best I can. I sat and spent a moment processing, savoring the memories. Rush had merged down first; ve had split off a new copy of verself, and then the original had quit. On doing so, all the memories ve'd formed over the last year fell down onto me, ready to be remembered like some forgotten word on the tip of my tongue: all I needed to do is actually remember. Clearly, Tule had already forked and merged back down into Sedge, as their combined memories piled yet more weight on me. Three sets of memories --- two from my direct up-tree instances and one from a second-degree up-tree instance --- rested on my mind, ready for integration.

There'll be time for full perusal and remembering later. It was rapidly approaching midnight, and I needed to get the memories sorted into my own, interleaved and zippered together into as cohesive a whole as best I can manage, all conflicts addressed --- though with as separate as their lives had been until then, there was thankfully quite little in the way of conflicting memories --- so that, shortly before midnight, I could fork, myself, let that new copy of me live out the next year with Hanne, with all their joys and sorrows, while the original instance quit and let all those memories --- those of Rush, Sedge, Tule, and myself --- fall to Marsh to process, savor, and treasure for themself.

I heard Hanne return, heard her climb back onto the couch before me, felt her press a cold glass of water into my hand.

Five minutes left.

Three.

23:58, and I opened my eyes and smiled. ``Well, seems like it's been a pleasant enough year for everyone involved, though I'll deal with all the rest of that later.''

``It continues to amaze just how good you are at that.''

``What, merging?''

She nodded.

``It feels pretty straight forward for me,'' I said. ``I just\ldots remember it all, and when memories or outlooks on life don't line up, I choose mine.''

She laughed. ``Still, far better than I am at it.''

23:59.

``Practice, maybe,'' I said. ``But hey, happy New Year.''

``Is it time, then?'' she asked.

I nodded, willed away the drunkenness, took a sip of water, and, with a rush of intent, brought into being beside us a new instance of myself. Exactly the same. \emph{Precisely}. Had such a thing any meaning to an upload, we would be the same down to the atomic level, to the subatomic. All of the memories, all of the personality, all of the history.

For a fraction of a second, at least. From that point on, we began to diverge, each remembering things differently. The Reed that still sat on the couch saw Hanne from \emph{this} angle, yet the one that stood beside the couch saw her from that. The one that sat on the couch felt the fire on his cheek, the one standing felt it on his back.

``Alright. I love you, Hanne Marie. I'll miss you.''

She rolled her eyes. ``Tell Marsh I said--

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``See? You're so weird.''

``I guess we are,'' I said, smiling and nudging Hanne upright once more. A flash of \emph{déjà vu} struck me squarely in the right temple, a headache amid the buzz of alcohol. ``Hey now, no falling asleep on me.''

``Right, sorry. Still, uh\ldots still fifteen minutes.'' She grumbled and rubbed at her face. ``Sorry if that came off as rude. I guess it's just outside my understanding.''

I scooted up onto the couch, myself, sitting cross-legged to face her. ``It's okay. It's not wrong, come to think of it, I just don't think it's wholly right, either, you know? It's more a matter of intent. Our intent is to live our own lives doing as we will rather than as they would, and it's their intent to let us do so --- and by not interfering, even with communication, \emph{force} us to do so --- and yet still be able to experience that almost like a dream. They forked us off a century ago, me, Lily, and Cress, and we've been doing it for the last century, and it's worked out well enough since then. They're more than just Marsh, now. They're Marsh and all of us. If all this--'' I waved around the room, feeling the gentle spin of drunkenness follow the movement, ``--is just a dream, if we're all doing our best to dream in unison with each other, then I think intent may be all that we have, right? However may billion or trillion people have uploaded are all trying to dream the same dream together, all mixed up and poured into the same System, we have to form what meanings we may on our own.''

``I think we broke two trillion instances a while back. I don't know how may uploads, but I don't think it's hit a trillion yet.''

``Right. Sorry, guess I'm kinda rambly when I'm drunk.''

Leaning forward, she gave me a light kiss. ``You know I like it when you ramble. Just don't lose track of the time.'' She stood up straight again and squinted out towards nothing. ``Weird. \emph{Déjà vù.}''

23:45.

I started to nod, willed away the drunkenness, then stiffened as I felt first one, then another set of memories crash down onto me. ``\emph{Fuck.} One of these\ldots days I'll convince\ldots them to give me some warning\ldots sec\ldots{}''

Hanne laughed and shook her head, stepping away from the couch to go get herself a glass of water.

I closed my eyes to turn down one of my senses, taking one more sip of the sweet-smelling brandy before setting it aside to rid myself of another two as best I could. I sat and spent a moment processing, savoring the memories. Rush had merged down first; ve had split off a new copy of verself then the original had quit. On doing so, all the memories ve'd formed over the last year fell down onto me, ready to be remembered like some forgotten word on the tip of my tongue: all I needed to do was actually remember. Clearly, Tule had already forked and merged back down into Sedge, as their combined memories piled yet more weight on me. Three sets of memories --- two from my direct up-tree instances and one from a second-degree up-tree instance --- rested on my mind, ready for integration.

There would be time for full perusal and remembering later. It was rapidly approaching midnight, and I needed to get the memories sorted into my own, interleaved and zippered together into as cohesive a whole as I could manage, all --- or, at least, almost all --- conflicts addressed (though with as separate as their lives had been until then, there was thankfully quite little in the way of conflicting memories), so that, shortly before midnight, I could fork and quit, myself, letting that new copy of myself live out the next year with Hanne, with all their joys and sorrows, while my original instance quit and let all those memories --- those of Rush, Sedge, Tule, and myself --- fall to Marsh to process, savor, and treasure for themself.

I heard Hanne return, heard her climb back onto the couch before me, felt her press a cold glass of water into my hand.

Five minutes left.

Two.

23:59, and I opened my eyes. ``Well, seems like it's been a pleasant enough year. I'll deal with all the rest of that later.''

``Is it time, then?'' she asked.

I nodded, took a few long gulps of water, and, with a press of will, brought into being beside us a new instance of myself. Exactly the same. \emph{Exactly}. Had such a thing any meaning to the uploaded consciousness, we would have been the same down to the atomic level, to the subatomic. All of the memories, all of the personality, all of the love and hate and past that made us \emph{us}.

For a fraction of a second, at least. From there, we began to diverge, each remembering things differently. The Reed that still sat on the couch sees Hanne from \emph{this} angle, and yet the one that stood beside the couch sees her from that. The one that sat on the couch felt the fire on his cheek, the one standing felt it on his back.

``Alright. I love you, Miss Hanne Marie. I'll think of you often.''

She rolled her eyes. ``No you won't. Tell Marsh I said hi.''

I laughed and, as the clock strikes midnight, willed myself to quit.

Then frowned.

``Something wrong?''

I held up a finger and closed my eyes. Once more, I thought to myself, \emph{I'm ready to quit}, then then willed that to be reality.

Rather than the sudden nothingness that should have followed, I felt the System balk. Resist. I felt an elastic sensation that I'd never felt before. There was a barrier between me and the ability to quit. I felt it, tested it, probed and explored. It was undeniably present, and though I sensed that I could probably have pressed through it if I desired, it was as though Lagrange desperately did not want me to quit. It didn't want the Reed of now to leave the System.

``I can't.''

``You can't?'' Hanne tilted her head, then leaned forward to take one of my hands in her own. ``I mean, it's okay if you don't want to. I don't think Marsh will mind if you're a few minutes late. Hell, you can even send them a message saying you don't want to this year. I think they'll--''

``No, Hanne,'' I said, carefully slipping my hand free so that I could stand. I needed to pace. I nodded to my new fork, who quit. I declined the merge. ``I mean I can't. I'm not able to. It's impossible. Or possible, but-- wait, hold on.''

It had been more than a decade since I'd done so, but if ever there was a time, this was it. There were very few reasons that the System would try to stop an instance for quitting and one of them\ldots well, no-- It'd been more than a decade since I had broken the communication embargo, but I sent Marsh a gentle ping.

Or \emph{tried} to, at least.

All the ping was was a gentle nudge against the recipient's sensorium, a sense that someone was looking for them, was seeking them out, was just checking if they were free, if they were even there. From the sender's side, it felt like a gentle touch, a brush of some more metaphorical finger against the symbolic shoulder of the recipient, a reassurance that they were indeed there.

But there was nothing. I felt nothing. No sense of Marsh. Attempting to send a sensorium ping to someone that doesn't exist just felt like daydreaming. It felt like a silly, pointless imagining, as though one was imagining that they could touch God on the shoulder or shake hands with the devil.

I frowned, pinged Hanne.

``What?'' she said, her frown deepening.

``Hold on, one more sec.''

00:02.

I thought across the clade, thought of one of Marsh's other forks. Pinged Lily.

The response was immediate, words flowing into my consciousness through some sense that wasn't quite hearing. \emph{``What's happening? I can't--''}

Pinged Cress, the other fork. Asked, \emph{``Cress? Can you--''}

\emph{``What the fuck is happening?''} came the panicked response.

\emph{``My place,''} I sent back, followed by my address. I repeated the message to Lily and, on a whim, my own up-tree instances, Rush, Sedge, and Tule.

00:04.

Cress arrived almost immediately along with Tule --- they shared a partner, so it made sense they'd be together for the evening --- leading Hanne to start back on the couch. ``Reed,'' she said, voice low. ``What is--''

Lily arrived next, already rushing forward to grab my shoulder. ``You can't either?'' she said, voice full of panic.

Before I could answer, Sedge and Rush arrived. The living room became quite crowded, all five of the other instances of the Marsh clade clamoring over each other to talk to me, the first long-lived fork from Marsh.

``Reed!'' Hanne shouted, standing and stamping her foot. She spoke carefully, and I could hear anger just beneath that tone. ``What happened?''

The rest of the clade looked to me as well, and I quailed under so many gazes. ``I can't quit. I can't merge down. I can't reach Marsh. They--'' my voice gave out and I had to take a shaky sip of water. ``They're not on Lagrange, as far as I can tell.''

00:07.

Silence fell thick across the room. The clade --- Marsh's clade --- stared, wide-eyed. Their expressions ranged from unsure to terrified. I couldn't even begin to imagine what expression showed on my face.

``Okay, no, hold on,'' Hanne said, shaking her head and waving her hand. She appeared to have willed drunkenness away, much as I had, as her voice is clear, holding more frustration than the panic I felt. ``Did they quit? They couldn't have, right? You just pinged them earlier today.''

I nodded.

``And they said nothing about quitting?''

``Nothing.''

Hanne glanced around the room, singling out Marsh's other two immediate up-tree instances, Cress and Lily. Both shook their heads.

``I was just talking to them about an hour ago, actually.'' Lily said. ``They and Vos were wrapping up the first part of the night's celebration and they were going to--''

``Vos!'' I shouted. ``Shit, sorry Lily.''

It took a moment for Vos to respond to my ping. \emph{``Reed? It's been a bit. What's up?''}

\emph{``Is Marsh there?''} I sent back.

\emph{``I don't know. I figured they were in the study waiting on you. I just made us drinks, but they're not in there now. Is something wrong?''}

\emph{``Can you ping them?''}

There was a short pause, followed by a sensorium glimpse of a familiar room, that study from so long ago, every flat surface that wasn't the floor covered in stacks of unread books. Empty.

\emph{``What's happening?''} Vos sent. There was an edge of caution to her voice, the sound of a thin barrier keeping anxiety at bay.

\emph{``Pierre?''}

\emph{``One second.''} Another pause, and then, quickly, \emph{``Wait, can we just come over? What's your address?''}

I messaged over the address, and a few seconds later, Fenne Vos and Pierre LaFontaine arrived holding hands, leading to another yelp from Hanne.

``You must be Vos! Hi,'' she said, preempting any of Marsh's up-tree instances. ``Do you know where Marsh is?''

Some small part of me looked on in admiration. Hanne had kept much of the panic that was coursing through me and my cocladists out of her voice. I could feel a shout building within me and I knew from past experiences with Vos and Pierre that that would only make things worse.

``We didn't see them around,'' Vos answered, that barrier between caution and worry seemed to be giving way. ``Why? If you're all here, I'm guessing something happened.''

``Have you been able to ping them?''

Both Vos and Pierre shook their heads.

The sight of Cress and Tule bowing their heads to whisper to each other caught my eye, and a moment later their partner, a stocky woman with curly black hair, appeared between them, looking as though she'd come straight from a party, herself. I felt a muffled pang of affection for her, lingering emotions from my up-tree instance's memories.

``Stop!'' Hanne said, then laughed nervously at the silence that followed. She gestured absentmindedly, pressing the bounds of the sim outward to expand the room. It had started getting actively crowded. ``You're doing it again, Reed.''

``What?'' I tamped down indignation. ``Sorry, Hanne, there's a lot going on.''

``Right, I get that, but can you start at the beginning for those of us outside the clade? What did you mean, you don't think they're on Lagrange?''

At this, both Vos and Pierre took a half-step back, looking startled.

00:11

I spent a moment composing myself. I stood up straighter, brushing my hands down over my shirt, and nodded. ``Right. I'm sorry, love. When midnight hit, I forked and tried to quit as usual. I couldn't, though. The System wouldn't let me.''

Cress and Tule's partner, I Remember The Rattle Of Dry Grass of the Ode clade, stood up stock straight, all grogginess --- or perhaps drunkenness --- from the party fleeing her features.

``That's only supposed to happen when quitting would mean the loss of too much memory, though. The root instance can barely quit at all in the older clades--'' Dry Grass winced. I did my best to ignore it and continued. ``--because the System really doesn't like losing a life if it won't be merged down into a down-tree instance.''

``So, you couldn't quit because\ldots{}'' Hanne said, urging me on.

``Well, I imagine the same is true for anyone with lots of memory inside them. If there's no one to merge down into, it just looks like\ldots like\ldots{}''

``Like death,'' Dry Grass said darkly. ``It looks like death. You could not quit because, to the System, you and all of your memories would die, and the System is not built for death. That is what it felt like, is it not? It felt like you could not possibly quit without pushing the weight of the world uphill?''

I frowned. ``Perhaps not all that, but it certainly felt like I was trying to push against something really hard. It didn't feel like it was impossible like anything else the System would prohibit, it just felt like I was being forced away from that option.''

``Like death,'' she muttered again. Vos begins to cry. ``Marsh is not on the System, then, no.''

``So are they\ldots is Marsh dead?'' Pierre whispered, his own voice clouded by tears. Vos towered over him --- over all of us, really --- and had always seemed as though she could weather a storm better than any stone, but now, even she looked suddenly frail, fragile in the face of the loss they were all only talking around.

``They are not on the System,'' Dry Grass and I echoed in unison.

``How can you be sure, though?'' Hanne asked. ``You can't merge down, sure, and you can't ping, but could they just be in some locked down sim or a privacy cone or something? Can those even block merges?''

Lily shook her head. ``Not that I know of, no. I don't think anything blocks a merge.''

``Nothing blocks merges, correct,'' Dry Grass said. ``That would leave potentially much in the way of memory lingering with nowhere to go, and the System does not work that way.''

Slowly, all within the room began to face her rather than me, at which I breathed a silent sigh of relief. That I was the oldest fork of Marsh's didn't necessarily give me any more of the information that they all so desperately craved. Dry Grass was more than a century older than I was, however, and if anyone might have answers\ldots{}

``How do you know, love?'' Tule asked.

``I worked as a sys-side System tech.''

Cress laughed. It sounded forced. ``And you never thought to tell us?''

``This was before you were born, my dear. Before Marsh's parents were born, even. It was a long time ago, and I have since moved on.''

``Well, is there a way to find out what happened?''

She frowned down to her feet as she thought. ``It used to be that there were rotated audit logs for events like forking and quitting. I do not know if those are kept any longer, though, given how large they would get in a very short amount of time. Perhaps?''

``Well, how do we check those?'' Rush said, speaking up for the first time since that initial clamor of voices.

Dry Grass spread her hands helplessly. ``I do not know. Again, it has been two centuries since I worked as a System tech. The technology has changed much. I would need access. I would need time to remember. Time to research.''

``Do we even \emph{have} time?'' Lily growled at her, frustration apparently winning out over panic. Cress and Tule both gave her a sharp glance.

00:15

``I do not know. I am sorry,'' Dry Grass said, bowing. ``I will fork and read up as fast as I can. May I remain here?''

``Please,'' Cress and Tule said in unison. Sedge, Rush, and I, along with Marsh's partners, all nodded. Lily did not. Hanne only frowned.

Dry Grass bowed once more, forked, and the fork stepped from the sim to, I suppose, go lose herself in the perisystem architecture, hunting down what information she could. They could only hope that she still had the permissions to find what she needed.

``Hey, uh,'' Sedge said into the uncomfortable silence that fell once more. ``Has anyone checked the time?''

Everyone tilted their heads almost in unison. It was more a habit than anything, hardly a required motion, but the habit that Marsh had formed so many years ago had stuck with all of the Marshans throughout their own lives.

Systime 277+41 00:17.

``Wait, what--''

``277? But--''

``It says 2401, too!''

Everyone talking at once quickly grew overwhelming. I shook my head, covered my ears with my hands, then, remembering that I was standing in the middle of a small crowd, tried to mask the movement by turning it into running my fingers through my hair.

``Okay, one at a time,'' I said, having to speak up to drown out further exclamations. ``I'm seeing 277+41. Everyone else seeing the same thing?''

Nods around.

``Any, uh\ldots{}'' I swallowed drily, looked around, and grabbed the glass of water that still sat, neglected, on the table beside the couch. After a careful sip, I tried again. ``Any ideas as to what might have happened?''

Silence.

``Well, has anything like this happened before?''

Everyone in the room turned to look at Dry Grass, who shrugged helplessly. ``Not that I can remember. The closest would be periods of downtime. It has happened a few times over the centuries. There was a few days of downtime while Lagrange was being set up during Secession, a few hours here and there.''

``But not, what\ldots thirteen months?'' Cress asked.

``I have never seen that amount of time lapse, no.''

Tule piped up, saying, ``Nothing on the perisystem about anything like this happening before, but holy shit are the feeds going off.''

``Really?'' I asked, then laughed. ``Sorry, stupid question. Of course they are.''

``And?'' Rush said, impatient. ``What are they saying?''

``It's pretty much this conversation repeated a million times over. I think a lot of people doing the same sort of thing we are. A lot of talking about the jump in time, about trying to quit and\ldots{}''

Vos frowned. ``And what?''

``Well, I mean,'' Tule stammered. ``Same thing, I guess. Nothing.''

Dry Grass tilted her head, then nodded. ``Another fork is keeping a tally. Missing instances are now numbering in the thousands.''

Vos took another half-step back. ``Wait, \emph{thousands?}''

``It is proving difficult to keep up with the feeds,'' she said, speaking slowly. Perhaps still receiving updates? ``One of me is just reading the feeds and marking a tally every time a missing instance is mentioned.''

``Thousands, Jesus,'' Hanne whispered. ``I should check in on Jess. And probably--''

She started as Pierre sagged briefly against Vos, then either quit or left the sim. ``He\ldots I mean\ldots{}'' Vos began, shook her head, and then followed suit.

\emph{``Do you two need anything?''} I sent to Vos. \emph{``Or just space and quiet?''}

\emph{``The latter,''} she replied after a few long seconds. The sensorium message was so clearly sent between sobs that I had to swallow down the same sensation rising in my throat.

``Give them some space,'' I mumbled against that awkward pressure in my chest. ``So, okay. What's the whole story again? Midnight hit and suddenly it's thirteen months--''

``Thirteen months and ten days, almost exactly,'' Sedge corrected.

I sighed, nodded. ``Right. Midnight hit and the date jumped forward and now there are thousands of--''

``Tens of thousands,'' Dry Grass said, then averted her gaze. ``Apologies.''

``It's alright. Tens of thousands of people missing. The feeds are going nuts. What about phys-side? Anything from them?''

``I have not been looking. I am uncomfortable with phys-side. There is a reason I am no longer a tech.''

``I'll take a look,'' Rush said. Ve forked quickly, the new instance almost immediately disappearing as ve stepped from the sim. ``Though I'm not as fast at it as you are.''

``Anything from Castor or Pollux? Or Artemis? It's only a few months round trip, definitely less than thirteen. We don't really talk. I don't have anything from any of the Marshans on the LVs.''

``Shit,'' Dry Grass whispered, expression falling. ``Yes, there is.''

When she didn't continue, Lily stamped her foot, growling, ``And? You can't just leave that hanging there! I don't fucking get you Odists, you're always--''

``Lily!'' Tule and Cress said as one.

She made a show of regaining her composure, movements overly liquid as she straightened up and brushed a lock of hair out of her face. ``Sorry.''

An awkward silence lingered, overstaying its welcome. Eventually, Dry Grass's shoulders slumped. ``You do not need to apologize. The messages will only affirm your feelings about my clade. The eighth stanza continues to manage the flow of information in--'' She cut herself off and dug her hands into her pockets, an oddly bashful gesture. ``I should not be telling you this, understand. I am not even supposed to be in contact with them, Hammered Silver would have my head if she knew, but An Answer has been in contact. Please do not share any of this.''

``\,`Eighth stanza?','' Hanne asked.

``Yes. One hundred of us, each named after a line in a poem broken into ten stanzas,'' she said. ``The eighth is--''

``True Name,'' Lily said through gritted teeth.

``Sasha,'' Dry grass corrected, then shook her head. ``Apologies. Yes, that is the stanza focused on\ldots politics and information control.''

Lily pointedly looked away.

``They continue to manage the situation, I mean, and, from the sounds of it, they are describing it as an issue with the Deep Space Network and the Lagrange station. There are few mentions of the Lagrange \emph{System} itself. I can read between the lines as well as any of them, though, and I do not think this is true. At least, not wholly.''

``Wait,'' Cress said. ``So they're saying that there's a problem with the DSN and the station? How do you mean?''

``There are a few messages from over the last thirteen months, but they are queued up as though they have been held until now. There has been no contact between the LVs or Artemis and Lagrange.'' There was a pause as Dry Grass's gaze drifted, clearly scanning more of those messages. ``Most messages have been discarded\ldots only a few from the Guiding Council on Pollux plus a few clades on Castor\ldots have been let through\ldots outgoing messages are ungated\ldots{}''

``There's a bit about that in news from phys-side, actually,'' Rush said, looking thoughtful. ``Communications failure on the Lagrange station. Something about aging technology. The DSN was also having problems so a few new repeaters were launched. Some from the station, even.''

``But nothing about the System?''

Both Rush and Dry Grass shook their heads.

``What did you mean about reading between the lines, though, love?'' Tule asked.

``The messages are very stilted. There is panic beneath the surface. That they mention so little about Lagrange is as telling as if they were to say they did not know. They \emph{do} know, they are just refusing to talk about it over messages.''

``Why?'' Lily asked. While there was still an edge to her voice, genuine concern covered it well.

``\,`Information security and hygiene'. At least, that is what they would say were I to ask. Even if the messages were to fall into the wrong hands, sys- or phys-side, they would not show anything else having happened. I am of them, however. I can read some of the words that were not written.''

``But news from phys-side says the same thing,'' Rush said.

She shrugged, another sheepish motion, and looked away. ``Do you really expect that we are receiving unfiltered information from phys-side?''

I stole a glance at Lily. She looked to be spending every joule of energy on keeping her mouth shut.

There had been an enormous row within the clade when first Cress, then Tule, had gotten in a relationship with a member of the Ode clade. Most of the Marshans had largely written off the stories of the Odists' political meddling as overly fantastic schlock, yet more myths to keep the functionally immortal entertained. Even if they had their basis in truth, they remained only stories.

Lily, however, had had an immediate and dramatic reaction, cutting contact with the rest of the clade --- including Marsh --- for more than a year. She had even refused to merge down for years until tempers had settled.

Hanne spoke up. ``Listen, can we maybe give this a few hours to play out? I need to sleep, and if Reed doesn't take a break, he's going to explode.''

The others laughed. I felt a twinge of resentment. Shouldn't they be dumping all of their energy into this? Shouldn't they all fork several times over and throw themselves at the problem? Still, it was true enough, and if they stood around the living room spinning their wheels any longer, tempers would continue to flare.

``Yeah,'' I said. ``Give me at least four hours. I'll do a little digging and grab some sleep, then maybe we can meet up somewhere else and talk through what we've learned.''

``I'll keep digging at phys-side news,'' Rush said. ``Want to help, Sedge?''

She nodded.

Tule and Cress nodded as well. ``We'll help out Dry Grass,'' Cress said.

``Lily?''

``I'm just going to get some sleep,'' she said stiffly. ``Sorry for yelling.''

Cress shook its head, leans over, and hugged her. ``Take the time you need.''

``Right. Let's meet at a park or something in the morning. Hanne will kill me if you all pile in here again,'' I said, at which Hanne nodded eagerly. ``And I imagine things are going to be really weird out there, so I don't want to pile into a bar or whatever.''

``Really, really weird,'' Sedge muttered.

One by one, the other Marshans stepped away from my and Hanne's sim until it was just the two of us, the fire crackling, the weight of the evening hanging over, between us. We stood in silence for a few long moments before I stumbled back over to the couch and fell heavily into the cushions. I buried my face in my hands and only then let the grief take me.

Hanne sat beside me, got her arm around my back. She rested her head on my shoulder as the wave of emotion overcame me. At first, she asked if I'm alright, then she whispered a few ``I'm sure it'll work out''s and ``it's going to be okay''s before eventually just sitting with me in silence.

``This is really fucking weird,'' I said once I was able to speak again. The sound of speech echoed strangely in my head, muffled in that post-cry mess. ``I don't even know who I'm crying for. It's not like they're a parent, I came from them, but they aren't me, either.''

``A bit of both, maybe?''

I shrugged. ``Maybe.''

``Do you really think they're gone?''

I shrugged again, stay silent.

Hanne nudged me gently with her shoulder. ``Come on, Reed. Let's get you to bed.''

``I don't think I'll be able to sleep. Not after all that.''

``Still,'' she said, leaning over to kiss my cheek. It felt too hot, too intense a sensation, but I felt calmness radiate from that spot all the same. ``If nothing else, you can lay down in the dark and give your poor eyes a break. Plus, \emph{I} need to sleep, at least.''

How could I stand, knowing as I did that the clade had become unmoored? How could I think of sleep when there might be some remnant of Marsh somewhere in the wires? Some ghost of them in the machine that was the System? If this System was a dream, as Dry Grass and the rest of her clade had promised the world, then oughtn't there be some wisp of them of memory from which deeper archives could be dredged? Even a Marsh from decades back would still be a Marsh worth bringing back.

I sighed, nodded dully, and let her pull me to my feet.

I swayed for a moment, feeling reality shift unsteadily beneath me. Once I straightened up, I followed Hanne off to our bedroom. We'd spent the previous night, as we often did, sleeping in two separate beds --- I always got too warm sleeping next to someone --- but any grounding force feels welcome now, so, with a gesture, the two beds slid together, merging seamlessly into one.

A hollow feeling bubbled up within me. The two beds merging into one was an image of something now well beyond the Marsh clade. I was thankful I'd already cried myself dry.

The lights dimmed to near darkness and the temperature dropped a few degrees as me and Hanne stripped and settled beneath the covers, her arms snug around me.

``I love you, Reed,'' she mumbled against the back of my neck. ``I'm sorry I got so stressed before, but I love you. You know that, right?''

I leaned back against her. ``I know. I love you too.''

As expected, sleep did not come. Exhaustion pulled at me, exerting its own gravity, but too many emotions crowded it out. Too many emotions and too many thoughts. I spent a few minutes chiding myself --- shouldn't I sleep, if only to be more refreshed for the next day? --- before giving in and letting my mind circle around each of those emotions, each of those thoughts.

There was the faintest brush against my sensorium. Vos.

\emph{``How're you two holding up?''} I sent.

\emph{``Not well.''}

\emph{``I imagine not.''} After a moment, I added, \emph{``Do you have any more information?''}

The faintest sense of a shake of the head before Vos said, \emph{``Nothing. They were here, then they weren't. There's no trace. It's almost as thought they never existed. Pierre fell asleep a bit ago. I think he wore himself out trying to reach them.''}

\emph{``It's pretty late.''}

\emph{``Or early,''} Vos mused. \emph{``No sleep for you, either?''}

\emph{``I gave it a go, but have just been laying in the dark.''}

\emph{``Have you heard from any of the others?''}

\emph{``Nothing yet,''} I sent. \emph{``I need a bit of a break from them, anyway.''}

\emph{``How come?''}

\emph{``We wind up in feedback loops a little too easily.''} I stifled a snort of laughter. Hanne mumbled something incoherent against my neck in her sleep. \emph{``It drives Hanne nuts. That's why she was yelling about me doing it again.''}

\emph{``Oh, trust me, Marsh winds up in--''} The message stopped abruptly, and I found myself holding my breath, checking the time several times in a row, wary of further jumps. A few seconds later, Vos continued, voice shaky. \emph{``They, uh\ldots they} wound \emph{up in their own feedback loops.''}

I buried my face against the pillow, take long, slow breaths, willing myself to make as little noise as possible so as not to wake Hanne. How could I lay there, knowing as I do that Marsh was gone? How could I speak to Vos, knowing that I should be doing something, not crying in bed, accepting a fate that made no sense? Was it just some hopeless part of me that had accepted Marsh's absence? Oughtn't I be striving even now to find some way to get them back?

No answers, only questions.

\emph{I'm really struggling,} I replied, realizing after that it's been nearly ten minutes of silence since Vos messaged last. \emph{I'm laying here in the dark like a fucking idiot instead of doing literally anything to figure this out.}

Her reply was gentle. \emph{So are we, Reed. Just laying in bed, staring at nothing. I don't know how to make that\ldots okay in my head, but it's all I've got.}

\emph{How's Pierre doing, then?}

\emph{Not well.}

\emph{He seemed like it hit him really hard, yeah.}

A pause, and then she sent, quieter than before, \emph{I don't want to say this is hitting any one of us harder than the other, but\ldots well, we care for him. That was our dynamic, I mean. He's young and full of emotions, so we occasionally fall into that parent role. It hit him hard, and so he needs care, but\ldots{}}

\emph{But it's also hitting you hard?}

\emph{Yeah.}

\emph{Pass on my love, will you?} I send.

The sense of a sniffle from the other end of the message. The sense of a nod.

The message stopped.

I lay in bed, then, thinking about Marsh. Thinking about all that I knew of what they'd become since I was last them, however long ago that was. We'd seen each other a handful of times at this event or that gathering, and we'd talked a few times over messages a few more, but he was always distant, always held at arms length.

It was both our arms, too, I know that. They kept their life separate from mine, just as I kept mine separate from theirs. It was ever our arrangement that all of their forks would live out their own individual lives, merging down as the year ticked over.

They'd laugh whenever it came up, saying, ``So I'm greedy. Sue me.''

We'd all laugh, too. It wasn't really greed, that desire for our memories in a way that we could never get in return. It was just the dynamic that we held to ever since I'd been forked. Of course it was: I \emph{was} them when I'd been forked. An exact copy that only slowly diverged over the years. It had been my idea as much as theirs.

Hanne rolled away from me and I take that as my chance to at least no longer be laying down. I forked a new instance standing beside the bed and then quit, just in case the motion of me getting out of bed would wake her.

I needed out of the house. Nowhere public --- I don't want to see what others in the System are dealing with right now. There would be time for that later, but for now I needed out and away from everyone.

The sim I wound up in is simple and bucolic. There was a pagoda. There was a field, grass cut --- or eaten, I suppose, given the sheep in the distance --- short, stretching from stone wall to stone wall. It was day --- it didn't even seem like the owners included a day/night cycle --- and foggy. Cool but not cold. Damp but not wet.

There was a bench in the pagoda, at least, so I made my way there, trudging tiredly up the whitewashed wood of the steps to sit on the well-worn seats. Whoever made this place seemed to have put more effort into the pagoda than the field. Fog like that was usually the sign of a border of a sim of limited size, so it was clearly just this single paddock, the grass and sheep and stone walls likely purchases from the exchange.

It was a public sim, but the listing had shown zero occupants. I was lucky it was empty, I guess.

A pang tugs at my chest. Empty of people because they were simply not here? Empty of people because everyone was dealing with the same problem that we were? Or empty of people because those people were gone, too?

The seat of the bench had been worn smooth by who knows how many butts over the years, but I picked at the velvety wood all the same. \emph{You're not alone, Reed,} I reminded myself. \emph{Hanne's at home. The rest of the clade is there. Vos and Pierre are there. Dry Grass is there.}

I sighed and slouched against the back of the bench. Exhaustion was warring against the drive to do \emph{something}, and both of those were striving against the need to be alone and away from this whole spectacle. All of those `how can I' questions were clattering up against equal-sized armies of 'too tired's and 'it doesn't need to happen now's.

I spent an hour out there, all told. I picked at the bench. I called out to the sheep. I walked circles around the pagoda in the gray day. I bent down, pluck a blade of grass with the intent to\ldots I don't know, chew on it like I've seen in films, but it smelled so strongly of sheep manure that I dropped it instead and headed home to finally lay down beside Hanne and sleep.

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I woke, exhausted, to a cup of coffee steaming on the bedside table.

At some point while I'd slept, Hanne had once more split the bed into two separate mattresses and very gently instructed the sim to slide them a few feet away from each other. Perhaps I'd been tossing and turning, or maybe I'd been snoring. I promised myself I'd ask later, then promptly forgot about it in favor of the coffee mug waiting for me.

Coffee and chicory, nearly a third milk by volume. Perfect.

I was two sips in when the weight of what happened hit me once again. I didn't quite know how it was that they had escaped me in those minutes after waking, but a pile of `how could' questions started to hem me in again --- how could I possibly forget, when this is the biggest thing that has happened to our clade ever? Never mind sys-side or phys-side; ever.

I forced myself to sit up in bed and drink my coffee. I set myself the goal of sipping until it was finished. I stared out the window for a bit. I cried for a bit. I drank about half my coffee before the wait became unbearable.

Five minutes. Hah.

I couldn't quite interact face-to-face yet. Not with Hanne, not with the occasional bout of sniffles still striking me. Instead, I sent the gentlest ping I could manage to Vos, receive no answer.

I tried various members of the clade next. Lily flatly rebuffed me. There weren't any words, just a prickly sensation of solitude and the physical signs of anger. Rush didn't respond, but ve always did sleep better than all of us. Sedge begged another hour's rest, and I acquiesced. Tule and Cress were both asleep.

Well, that was the first layer of contacts. None of us were single, but of all the partners I knew, the only ones I'd talked to in any depth were Vos and Pierre. Beyond them, there was\ldots{}

I reached out mentally to send a sensorium ping to Dry Grass, only for the perisystem architecture to present me with a series of options, numbering well above a dozen. She'd been busy, apparently, forking as needed throughout the night and-- yep, two of those available instances disappeared as they quit, followed shortly by one more new one being added. She was certainly still awake.

\emph{Good morning, Reed,} her root instance murmured through a message. \emph{More well rested, now?}

\emph{Best I can be, at least,} I sent back. \emph{I, uh\ldots sorry for interrupting. The rest of the clade's asleep and I don't want to pester Hanne any more than I need to, not after last night.}

There was mirth on the other end, some barely-sensed laughter that didn't quite rise to the level of coming through the message. Another tug at my emotions, more leftovers from Tule's merge. \emph{It was rather stressful, was it not? You do not need to apologize, however. How are you feeling?}

\emph{Honestly?}

\emph{Please. I want to hear.}

\emph{I'm feeling like shit.} I laughed, shaking my head. \emph{I mean, of course I am. I'm some awful mix of hopeful that there's some solution, mourning Marsh, kicking myself for mourning them maybe preemptively, kicking myself for not doing more, and just plain confused.}

The Odists were an old clade --- far older than any of us, having been born decades before the advent of the System --- so it was no wonder that Dry Grass was far more adept at sensorium messages than anyone else I'd met. It wasn't that I saw her lean back in her chair, nor that I felt the act of leaning back myself, but the overwhelming sensation that I got from that moment of silence was of her sighing, leaning back, crossing her arms over her front. I had no clue how she managed to pull that off. \emph{There is little that I can say to fix any one of those, and anything else would ring hollow. All I can do is validate that, damn, Reed, that is a shitload of emotions. There is a lot going on, and I do not blame you for feeling confused.}

\emph{Thanks,} I responded, feeling no small amount of relief that she hadn't tried to dig into any one of those feelings, nor even all of them as a whole. \emph{How are Tule and Cress holding up? Hell, how're you holding up?}

\emph{They are asleep,} she sent, and I could hear the fondness in her voice. \emph{One of me is keeping an eye on them, pretending to sleep.}

\emph{And the rest of you?}

\emph{Working.}

I finished my coffee in two coarse swallows, winced at the uncomfortable sensation that followed. I took another moment to stand up and start making the bed again. As I did, I asked, \emph{What on? I saw a ton of forks.}

The sense of a nod, and then, \emph{Several things. One of me is still keeping tallies on how many are missing based on reports, which appears to be some few million so far. Another of me is collating the varied types of posts on the feeds --- wild supposition, unchecked grief, confusion, and so on. Another is speaking to\ldots a member of the eighth stanza through an intermediary--}

\emph{This `An Answer' you mentioned?}

\emph{Yes. The Only Time I Dream Is When I Need An Answer. She is the one who has focused on interpersonal connections, which is only relevant in that she is the only one remaining in the stanza willing to pass on information to the portions of the clade that cut them off, about twenty of us.}

I snorted. \emph{Minus you, I guess.}

\emph{Well, yes. Nominally twenty of us,} she sent, and I could sense that almost-laughter again. \emph{Though it is far more complicated than that.}

\emph{Any news from Castor or Pollux?}

\emph{Yes,} she replied, hesitated before continuing, \emph{Though would you be willing to go for a walk to discuss what I have heard?}

\emph{I guess. Why?}

\emph{So I can get out of the house. So} you \emph{can get out of the house. So we can actually talk instead of me sitting in a war room populated by too many of me and you making your bed or whatever it is you are doing now.}

I hesitated, halfway through smoothing out the sheets. \emph{Oh, uh\ldots alright. Let me say good morning to Hanne. Do you have a place to meet?}

She sent the address of a public sim, to which I sent a ping of acknowledgement and a suggestion of five minutes' time.

Hanne sat at the dining room table, coffee in her hands, staring out at nothing, a sure sign that she was digging through something on the perisystem architecture. Probably poking her way through the feeds, looking for news of her own. She had her own friends, after all, her own circle of co-hobbyists, those who shared her interest in creating various objects and constructs. She had her own people to care about that weren't just me, weren't just the Marshans.

I chose instead to make myself another coffee, letting a cone of silence linger above me so that I didn't disturb her, even though her eyes did flick up toward me once or twice, joined by a weak smile.

``Want some space?'' I asked once a new pot of coffee sits in the center of the table.

``Kind of, yeah,'' she said, voice dull. ``Jess isn't responding. She's \emph{there,} but not responding. Shu is gone though. Just\ldots{}'' A sniffle. ``Completely gone. It's like she was never even there in the first place.''

I felt my expression fall. It was bound to happen, I figured; we knew enough people that if, as Dry Grass had said, millions had already been reported missing, Marsh wouldn't be the only one.

I reached forward to pat the back of her hand, which she tolerated for a moment before lifting it out of the way.

``I'm sorry, Hanne,'' I said. ``I know you liked them.''

She nodded.

``Any word on Warmth In Fire? I'm going to head out in a moment to see Dry Grass, and I'm wondering how bad the Odists got hit.''

Hanne shrugged. ``Ey's there. I haven't talked to em yet, though.'' She snorted, adding with a smirk, ``Though even if a chunk of them got taken out, I doubt any whole\ldots lines, or whatever they call them, were completely destroyed. They fork like mad.''

I laughed. ``Yeah, when I pinged Dry Grass earlier, she had something like eighteen instances.''

``Doubtless you'll be meeting up with number nineteen, then.''

``Probably.''

``Did she have anything new to say?''

I looked down into my coffee, considering how much to pass on. ``It sounds like a lot of people are gone. `A few million', though doubtless that's getting bigger as more people report in. Everything sounds pretty chaotic.''

Hanne furrowed her brow. ``A few \emph{million?} Jesus. Any word from phys-side?''

``Not that she mentioned, no.''

``Great. Of course not.''

I nodded, covering my anxiety with a sip of coffee.

``Well, hey,'' she said, leaning over to kiss me on the cheek. ``Go on and go talk with Dry Grass. Could be she's learned more, could be they've said something and we just haven't gotten it yet. If she's as plugged in as she says she is, then doubtless she knows more than she's showing.''

``Right.'' I laughed. ``Of all of us, she would.''

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We met in front of a small coffee shop. A bucolic small town main street lined with gas lamps and paved with cobblestones.

``Coffee and chicory, yes?'' Dry Grass said, offering me a paper cup.

I nodded as I accepted. ``Cress and Tule still drink that?''

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. ``Much to my chagrin, yes.''

``Not a fan?''

She shook her head. ``Too bitter for my tastes. Mocha, extra chocolate, extra whipped cream,'' she said, lifting her own cup. ``Apparently a sweet tooth can last more than three centuries. Who knew.''

``Yeah, that sounds way too sweet for me,'' I said, grinning.

Grinning back, she gestured down the street in an invitation to walk, and we fell in step beside each other, saying nothing.

The sim was, indeed, beautiful, though it did bear some trademarks of early sim design, with the cobblestones perhaps a little too perfectly fit together, a little too flat, and the hexagonal lamp posts bearing corners that were perhaps a little too sharp. Still, for a morning walk with coffee (my third of the day; I'd have to turn off the caffeine sensitivity later), it was ideal. The sim was quiet and calm, with the sun blessing the street with long shadows and cool air that felt on the path to warming.

``It's so quiet,'' I observed. The act of speaking out loud into the quiet air was enough to knock me back into the context of what had happened. ``Oh.''

Dry Grass readily picked up on the meaning behind that syllable, nodding to me. ``I do not imagine that it is so quiet because so many are missing, but I do think that many are staying home, hunting for lovers and friends, trawling the feeds. Heading out to public sims is, perhaps, not at the tops of their minds.''

Looking around did indeed provide a better sense of the mood. Those who \emph{were} out and about looked somber, distracted, walking with heads down or talking in hushed tones two-by-two.

So were we, I realized.

I made an effort to straighten up and look out into the clear morning. ``Is the toll still climbing?'' I asked.

``Not so rapidly, no. It is currently--'' She tilted her head for a moment before continuing. ``--just over two hundred million. I have also been able to get in contact with a phys-side engineer who has been\ldots well, she has been cagey, but she is at least confirming some of my estimates and guesses as I pass them on.''

``Oh?''

She nodded. ``Günay is quite nice, if perhaps a bit breezier than one might expect on hearing that millions of individuals have disappeared from the System. I do get the sense that she is a fairly cheerful person overall, at least.''

``Did she have anything to say about what might have happened?''

``No, not particularly. When I say that she has confirmed guesses, what she has done is invite me to talk and simply agreed when something I have said is right, perhaps expanding on it by small amounts.'' Her expression soured. ``I get the impression that she would \emph{like} to share more with me, but that she is simply not allowed to.''

I frowned. ``You mean someone's keeping her from doing so?''

``It is a hunch. Perhaps our communications are being monitored, and she is being instructed to limit the topics or act in this way. While talking with Need An Answer, she suggested that this is also what the eighth stanza is used to doing, but they are the political ones.''

I dredged up what history of the System I had learned, all of those sensationalist stories about the few old clades steering the direction of the lives of however many billion uploaded minds --- certainly well over a trillion, if one counted the two launch vehicles, Castor and Pollux that had been sent out seventy five years prior.

``And they'd be sneaky like this, too?'' I asked.

A snort of laughter and she nodded. ``Sneaky is one way to put it, yes. They shape interactions by second nature, for which much of the clade has distanced themself from from. We --- Hammered Silver's up-tree instances --- are not supposed to be speaking to any of them, but there are a few that I like plenty, and given our current status, I have begun interacting more openly with Need An Answer.''

Wary of letting the topic drift too far, I said, ``Have they gotten anything else from phys-side, then?''

She shrugged. ``There has been little enough interaction with sys-side over the years, and even less of late, now that the climate has started to level out back on Earth. The rate of uploads has even leveled off from its slow increase over time. We rarely hear much except that it come through the newly uploaded.'' She sipped her mocha, seeming to take that time to sort out her thoughts. ``Our political relationship with phys-side is cordial. It is one borne of necessity. Our social relationship is more complicated. Many have expectations of a long peace for themselves once they join us, and many more have loved ones who have joined us.''

``Right, I still talk to a bunch of friends I knew phys-side who joined later. Or Marsh does.'' I winced, amending that statement. ``Did.''

Dry Grass rested a hand lightly on my arm. ``I am sorry, Reed.''

Memories of Tule's relationship with her had me reaching for her hand without thinking, though I at least manage to simply pat at the back of it rather than anything more intimate. This must've shown on my face, as she smiled kindly, gave my arm a squeeze, and reclaimed her hand, saying, ``Memories are complicated, I am guessing.''

I nodded, doing my best to ignore the heat rising to my cheeks. ``A bit.''

``I am sure we will discuss it soon,'' she said. ``But for now, let us return to the topic at hand. Tule and Cress are awake and have expressed interest in discussing this in person, as well. Would you be amenable to them joining us? Sedge, Rush, and Hanne are welcome, though they have requested some space from Lily, and Vos and Pierre have requested their own privacy.''

Shaking the confusing, conflicting memories of Dry Grass from my head, I sighed, letting my shoulders slump. ``Lily really should be here, as well,'' I grumbled. ``But I get it. She's\ldots well, she's Lily.''

She bowed stiffly. ``Yes. It is okay, my dear. We are used to it, even this many years later.''

``Sorry all the same.''

She made a setting aside gesture, dismissing the topic easily. ``Another topic to discuss another time. Cress and Tule are grabbing coffee now, and will meet us in a few minutes.''

We stood in silence, then, saying nothing and letting the sun warm the backs of our necks. A few people poked their heads out of various shops, looked around sullenly, and then disappeared. Everyone who passed us did so in a cone of silence, and most of those opaqued from the outside, hard-edged cones of darkened and blurred background gliding down the sidewalk, hiding faces and silencing words.

``Why do you think they're out?'' I asked, nodding towards one such cone.

Dry Grass clutched her coffee to her chest, both hands wrapped around it as though to draw warmth through the paper cup. ``Why are \emph{we} out, Reed?''

I blinked, then shrugged. ``You asked to meet up in person, didn't you?''

``Of course, yes. And you agreed, did you not?''

``Well, yes.'' I hastened to add, preempting her point, ``I guess there is a lot to get out of interacting in person.''

She nodded.

``So why here, then?'' I asked.

``Good coffee,'' she said, lifting her cup. ``Good weather. Good memories. Some of them really good. This place is comforting to me. It is comforting to a good many people. I suspect that those who are out are doing much as we are. They are talking about the difficult things in a place that at least makes them feel a little better.''

``I suppose it is nicer than moping at home.''

``It is, is it not?''

``Is she talking your ear off, Reed?'' came a familiar voice from behind us.

``Oh, absolutely,'' Dry Grass replied, turning and leaning up to give Cress a kiss on its cheek. ``How are you feeling, loves?''

``Terrible,'' Tule said cheerfully. They had apparently collected Rush and Sedge before arriving, as all four of stood in almost identical postures, each holding their coffees in their right hand --- just, I realized, as I was doing. ``All my emotions are wrong. I'm jittery and tired and I want to get another few hours of sleep but feel guilty every time I lay down.''

I laughed. ``Yeah, that sounds about right. I keep feeling like I'm having the wrong sort of reaction to all of this.''

``When was the last true trauma that befell the Marshans?'' Dry Grass asked, smiling gently. ``I imagine it was before you uploaded, yes?''

A moment of silence followed.

``We as people have fallen out of the habit of dealing with crises,'' she continued when we all averted our gazes. ``Do not be hard on yourselves. We --- the Ode clade --- have more experience with crises than the vast, vast majority of the System, and even we are reeling. We are struggling to internalize something this big.''

``Have you lost any?'' Cress asked, and I thanked it silently for getting to the question before I worked up the courage to do so myself.

Hesitating, Dry Grass's confident mien fell. Eventually, she reached out to take each of her partners by the hand, then nodded to me. ``Come. Let us walk, yes? We will talk as we hop sims. I have more places full of comforting memories to show you.''

While I mulled over her focus on comfort and memory, we linked up hands, Tule and Cress with their partner, and me with Cress, Rush, and Sedge.

We stepped from the quaint small town sim and directly into warmth and sunlight, into the salt-tang of sea air and the low rush of waves against a beach. We stood atop a stone walkway of sorts, which seemed to run along the edge of a town. On further inspection, it appeared to be a retaining wall of a sort, holding up the town that meandered up a hill to keep it from sliding inexorably down into a bay.

Between the wall and the water was a sandy beach, partially obscured by intricate and crazed markings in the sand. It took some time of peering at them for me to make out just what they were: it seemed as though, throughout the tail end of New Year's, dozens or hundreds of people had been drawing in the sand using, I assumed, the sticks that were leaned against the wall.

All of the designs seemed to feature the New Year, now that I was able to pick them apart. Visions of fireworks, scratched over mentions of the year, scrawled names of, I guessed, couples who had met up on the beach.

I turned away with a hollow feeling in my chest, wondering just how many of those couples were still couples.

The town, while no less visually chaotic than the beach, was at least more heartening to look at. Everything --- \emph{everything}; the walls of buildings, the roofs, doors and window shutters, even the roads --- was covered with a blindingly colorful mosaic of tiles.

``It is nearly two centuries old,'' Dry Grass explained as we started trudging up one of those streets. When you enter, you are given a single tile --- if you check your pockets, it should be in there.''

Sure enough, when I dug my hand into my pocket, I found a cerulean tile, a little square of porcelain about three centimeters on a side. The rest of the Marshans dug in their pockets and pulled out tiles of their own, all one shade or another of blue.

``Unless you hold a color in your mind when you enter, you are provided with your favorite,'' Dry Grass explained. She pulled a golden yellow tile out of her own pocket and flipped it up in the air like a coin. ``All of this --- all of the mosaic --- has been placed by visitors.

``Set No Stones told me about this place.'' She smiled wryly. ``Because of course she did. We are consummate pros at living up to our names. You may place your tile wherever you would like, and so long as it is touching the edge of another, it will stick. You will not be able to remove it after, so make sure to place it carefully.''

Rush laughed. ``Holy shit. This place is amazing.''

``It's a bit hard to look at in some places,'' Sedge added, nodding towards a few buildings whose walls were covered in a rainbow static of tiles. ``But yeah, this is wild.''

``It really is, yes,'' Dry Grass said, grinning. ``Used to be, you would get one tile per day to place, but as the popularity grew, that was slowly reduced to one tile every six weeks. Still, whole fandoms have sprung up around this place among a certain type of individual. Set No Stones started organizing groups of fifty to a hundred instances to plan out images. They would meet up once a week to go build their pictures. That is where we are going now.''

The street was steep, but, despite the glossy look of the tiles that paved the road, none of us slipped.

We walked past buildings that depicted animals, some that depicted people, some that had words set in porcelain. There were scenes of nature and of cities. Even one that Cress spotted which appeared to be a building in the process of being covered by tiles exactly the same color as the stucco beneath it. The slow shift into square tiles led to a sense of the structure dissolving into pixels; or perhaps voxels.

If the small town sim had been relatively quiet, this one felt all but abandoned. Perhaps all such sims with a singular purpose would be like this today: if your friends are missing, if other versions of you were missing, then an attraction would doubtless lose some of its draw. We passed only a few tilers tramping up the hill with determination, ready to place their colors for the day.

Finally, Dry Grass led us down an alleyway, dim and cool, and gestured to a wall. The scene was of two figures sitting at a bar. Given the scale, it was impossible to make out any detail on the figures, though they seemed to be furries of some sort --- one tan and one black and white. Each had a drink, and before them, a wall of bottle stood, still in the process of being built. Dry Grass stood up on her tiptoes and touched her tile to the edge of a bottle, adding a bright glow to a fledgling bottle of whiskey.

``Here,'' she said, gesturing us to grab a crate that had been stacked nearby. ``All of these are just props to help people reach higher. You can probably add your blues to the edge of the lamp. They are not quite the right color for green lamps, but I do not care.''

One by one, we took our turns standing on that box and setting our tiles into place. I reached up as high as I could to flesh out the glowing rim of the green glass-shaded lamp. As soon as my tile touched the edge of the tile Tule had placed, it snapped into place with a satisfying click. It was completely immobile after that. No amount of nudging could get it to slide more perfectly into alignment.

As she helped Cress, the smallest of them, up onto the crate to place her tile, Dry Grass said, ``Thank you for coming with me on this little jaunt. If I spent any more time at my desk, I was sure that I would lose my mind. That I still have forks doing so is unavoidable, but at least I can get out of the house, yes?''

Tule nodded, kissed her on the cheek. ``For which I'm glad. I've never met anyone more prone to overworking themselves than you.''

She laughed. ``Yes, yes. The whole of the clade is like that, I can promise you that.''

``Are you ready to talk about what you've learned?'' I asked. ``If you need a bit more time, that's fine, of course.''

``I am ready. Thank you for giving me a bit of space.'' Once Cress had finished setting its tile, we all walked back out into the street, back out where the sun shone down on us. ``We have passed one billion reported missing instances.'' She held her hand up to forestall the comments that were already coming. ``That is instances, to be clear, not individuals, and certainly not clades. Many of those who are reported missing were ephemeral; they are one-offs created here and there. The number is high, but I did want to provide that caveat.''

``Hanne said that one of her friends, Shu, was missing entirely,'' I said, once the words had sunk in. ``Similar to Marsh, I mean. It wasn't just that she wasn't responding, it's like she was just never there, like the System didn't know about her.''

``I have not come across that name off the top of my head, but one of my instances will do a search to confirm and get in touch with Hanne directly, if she would like.''

I shrugged. ``It might be worth asking, at least.''

She nodded and gestured us back down to the beach. ``I will.'' She took a deep breath before continuing. ``Now, the current population in terms of instances is something like 2.3 trillion. A billion is a very small fraction of the System in terms of numbers, but it is what we are working with. A billion instances appear to have been\ldots ah, lost, along with thirteen months, ten days, seventeen minutes, and some seconds. On speaking with Günay, this downtime was observed phys-side, though she was not able to tell me much about it besides that. I have the sense that there is more that she \emph{could} have said, but that she was not able to for whatever reason.''

This had apparently been the first that Rush and Sedge had heard about this, so a few minutes were spent bringing them up to speed as we walked down the hill to the shore once more. I took the opportunity to focus at something far off, something further ahead of me than my own two feet. The horizon, the dark ocean breaking against the shore in a rush of white out where the arms of the bay projected into the water.

We passed only one more person. They were rushing up the hill, breathing coming in quick puffs, a white tile clutched in their hand, tears streaming down their face.

We said nothing until after they had passed.

``Reed?''

I startled back to awareness, smiling sheepishly at Sedge, accepting the hand that she held out for me. ``Sorry, lost in thought.''

``It is okay,'' Dry Grass said, smiling gently to me. ``The next sim that we are headed to does not have a very large entry point, so please huddle in closer. It will also be quite warm, so, fair warning.''

The entry point --- a platform of wood slats set upon stilts above stagnant water --- was far smaller than I had anticipated, and my foot rocked against an uneven plank set along the rim of the platform, forcing me to lean against Sedge. One edge of the platform led into a narrow, somewhat rickety wooden walkway that headed out over the water in a straight line until it came upon a patch of grass, where it turned a few degrees to the right to make its way to another patch of grass. It appeared to meander in this way from island of grass to island of grass in an uneven zigzag toward a copse of trees --- the word `banyan' floated to mind, though I wasn't sure if that was actually the case --- where it disappeared into shadow.

That shade looked delightfully appealing as the humid heat pressed in around us.

``What the hell is this place?'' Tule asked, wrinkling his nose at the scent of rotting vegetation in the air.

``A swamp,'' Dry Grass said simply, a lopsided smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. ``A marsh, perhaps.''

If it had been intended to be a joke, it fell flat. We remained in silence for a few awkward moments.

She sighed. ``My apologies. It is still important to me, however. It is-- Ah, there she is.'' She raised an arm and waved to a figure crouched at the edge of the platform just before the patch of grass. As we walked toward them in single file, she explained, ``This sim was designed by Serene, whom you shall soon meet. She is my cocladist from the ninth stanza, and one of my favorite people in the world. I asked her to meet us here.''

As we got closer, the strange hairstyle that I had noticed on the figure resolved into a pair of tall canine ears, and what I had assumed was a mask of some sort turned out to be a short, pointed muzzle. Serene stood up and stretched, smiling wanly to us before bowing in greeting.

``Serene, this is Tule and Cress, my partners, as well as a few more of their clade: Reed, Rush, and Sedge.''

The fox --- a hunch confirmed by a quick check of the perisystem --- nodded. ``Of the Marsh clade? How droll,'' she said, that smile veering perilously close to a smirk. ``Welcome to my own little marsh.''

``What \emph{is} this place?'' Rush asked, a note of wonder in ver voice. ``Other than a swamp, I mean.''

``It is mostly just a swamp,'' the other Odist said. ``But it is one of my favorites. I make a lot of sims, you must understand, but this is one of the least popular that I have made to date, and for that I love it all the more. There, see?'' She pointed to a patch of coarse grass at the edge of the `island'. ``Rushes!''

At this we all \emph{did} laugh.

``I have asked to meet with her to ensure that we could get a view of what is going on from someone else because this is getting a bit out of hand for even me.''

Serene nodded and started strolling down the path toward the next patch of grass, claws clicking dully against the wood. We fell in step behind her as she asked, ``And what was it that you wanted to hear from me, my dear?''

``I would like to hear what you are seeing.''

The fox --- a fennec, the System told me --- nodded slowly. ``I am seeing quiet chaos. I am seeing most of my sims emptying out. Few are out for walks or adventures. I sent forks to each of them when I noticed my own missing instances to ensure that they all still existed, as well. Thankfully, sims seem to be unaffected.

``The ones that are not empty, however, remain dreadfully quiet. Most of those who are out and about have set up over themselves cones of silence.'' She hesitated, took a deep breath, and then continued. ``Those who have not, though, are decidedly not quiet. More than one silence has been broken by weeping and wailing.''

I nodded. There were a few sniffles passing through the Marshans as the reality of what had happened once more struck us.

``I have also checked in with several of my students. Very few have been totally unaffected by this sudden loss, and more than one has disappeared from the System completely''

``More than one?'' Sedge asked. ``I suppose at least someone is bound to be unlucky enough to have been completely disappeared.''

Serene nodded. ``I have had many, many students, you must understand. It would not be surprising to me that at least one of them was that unlucky soul. However, I have come across three such cases so far.''

``Out of how many?''

``Hundreds. However, I am still not done checking yet.''

We walked in silence, then, digesting this, passing through the patch of grass and turned left at nearly a right angle to head to the next. One more until we hit the patch of shade.

``Did you lose any instances?'' I asked.

She nodded. ``One, yes. She was working on a sim of her own, a wild park of sorts. She had not yet merged down, however, and her progress has since been lost. The sim remains incomplete. Posts of gray sprout from the forest floor where the trees were intended to appear, but I do not yet know what trees she intended to place. There is no leaf litter to indicate what she was planning, nor is there yet a sun in the sky to indicated latitude.'' The fix turned her head to smile back to us, expression once more wan. ``I am thinking that I will turn it into a memorial of sorts.''

Rush said, ``I'd love to see it some day.''

She simply nodded.

``The feeds seem to be more chaotic,'' Dry Grass said after a few moments, dragging us back on topic. ``The world has taken to the perisystem to talk about what has happened. There, it is loud. It is filled with grief, yes, and increasingly more anger.''

``And you said there hasn't been any word from phys-side except through Günay?'' I asked.

She shook her head. ``Not really, but that is not to say that some sense of the sentiment is not evident. She sounded excited.''

Sedge snorted. ``Excited?''

``Yes. You must understand, though, that more than a year has passed for them, as well, and this is perhaps the first that they have heard from us since then.''

``Oh, so excited that whatever they did worked?''

Dry Grass nodded. ``Yes, that was my guess. She is disappointed, of course, that so many of us are missing, but she is excited that so many of us still remain. As I have said, her words have been careful and measured, but I can still tell that she was excited to be able to talk to us.''
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